Carry On My Wayward Son
by perrywings
Summary: <html><head></head>Songfic for Carry On My Wayward Son by Kansas. I own neither the song nor the Harry Potter characters or universe. Raked K for mentions of war.</html>


Carry On My Wayward Son by Kansas

"Carry on my son," they soothed, "You'll have your peace again soon, just see it through. Rest your weary soul. Shed no more tears tonight."

The common whisper sounded in Harry's head, the familiar encouraging words attempting to give him strength. Harry, hearing the voice, shook himself and kept moving.

He'd been fighting for so long. This world was chaotic, and its occupants liked to threaten him and come after him, and he had to defend himself. But he knew it wasn't that simple. Nothing ever was, especially not with him and his life. So he went out to find answers, to understand this unfolding war that he found himself at the center of.

It didn't happen without consequences. For a while it was good, he slowly began to piece things together. He flew higher and higher, but like Icarus, eventually he flew too high. Tragedy struck, and he got too aware, things went too far.

Things became both clearer and murkier. He was confused and scared at times, sad and depressed at others, and sometimes, raging and vengeful and angry. He could see some things clearly now, but sometimes he found himself blindfolded and unable to see anything at all.

He knew the truths. He wasn't crazy, he understood. He understood far more than most people realized. But they slandered his name, whispered about him in the halls, called him a liar, an attention seeker, a fake, a madman.

Nights were his solace. Sometimes he had nightmares, and then even his nights were lost. But the rest of the time, his nights were calm, and he took solace in his dreams. The voices soothed him. The most common was warm and strong, a man's voice, the second was soft and melodious, a female's voice, and the third was certain and laughter-filled, the voice of Sirius Black.

They encouraged him, comforted him, reassured him. Harry's worries faded for a while in his sleep, with his godfather and the people he suspected to be his parents, James and Lily, watching over him and making him feel safe and loved as he rested. And he would carry on one more day, because they urged him to.

Although his closest friends know it's an act, Harry continues to pretend he has a plan and that he knows what he's doing, if only for the sake of the younger students, the young, scared, innocent children that he worries will not remain so for long.

And it's a good thing he has an act, because everywhere – The Prophet, Hogwarts, the radio programs – they all follow his movements, gossip about him - slander his name and drag it through mud before holding it up high as a spectacle for all to see or sing his praises and place him on a throne on a pedestal and then drop weights and burdens on to his young shoulders and expect him to bear it.

And he plays his part mostly without a word. It's only when he says things aloud, that he's got a plan and that everything's going to be okay, but he still sounds so hollow, so empty, that his closest friends know that he doesn't know what to do.

Things are getting worse. More people's lives are getting ruined by the war. People are getting hurt, and Harry is among them. The world, his world, is filled with chaos, and Harry can really only flail about, find something to hold on to. He's afraid constantly and he doesn't know what to do as the world rages on around him. He knows he must act though, he just doesn't know how or if he has the strength to. But he must, it is his duty, his responsibility, and he will save them, save everyone, if he can.

Like that ever worked out for him. Good intentions always led to issues.

And yet throughout his troubles, his father is constantly in his head, reminding him, whispering, singing, comforting him when not even Ron or Hermione can, sometimes making him feel like he's right there with him, on the very same journey. He hears his father's voice and wishes he could have known him, really known him.

He hears his father's soothing encouragement and hopes he is proud of him, as Harry wakes up each morning and strives to carry on one more day, each day getting closer to destroying Voldemort, to ending the war.

No matter how long or short his life is from this moment on, he knows he will never forget. He will always remember the war and his mental cheerers.

Even though the knowledge of what he is and what he must sacrifice is shocking and pains him, he finds himself oddly happy, in a way he can't describe or explain.

Perhaps it's because he knows his purpose now, there's no emptiness or questions now, or because he knows his parents love him unconditionally.

Finally, he gets enough courage to ask her, "Do…do you think I'll join you? Or…Do you think I'll get punished?"

Lily smiles at her lovely boy, her strong, brave young man. "No, you'll see us again very soon, and we'll be together again, there will be nothing but peace for you."

Harry stands on the edge, his heart never wavering despite what he must do. He faces Voldemort for the final time, his family's encouragements singing in his ears. And he fulfills his destiny, dying and taking Voldemort down with him permanently.

Harry leaves the battle and enters a room, a clean, light, almost empty room, and there they stand in front of him, all smiles and open arms to welcome him home.

Harry never sheds another tear.


End file.
